Doing the Dragon is one of those things that most of us enjoy not just for the challenge of a winter rally but because it’s a special kind of event. Although every gig has its own particular attraction, the Conway Club annually provides an informal and friendly atmosphere which generates camaraderie and kindred spirit. Maybe it’s because everyone attending suffers the same hardships to not only arrive but survive that makes the Dragon a great leveller. It doesn’t seem to matter what you turn up on, how good your gear is, or from which fraction of the biking fraternity you hail, just getting there and taking part makes you equal to any man.
I remember once trying to explain to a non-biker what the attraction of the rally was (I imagine that was a very short conversation - 2021 Ed.). Unsure of quite how to justify camping in mid February in North Wales after riding many miles for the pleasure, I suggested that it was because all the people who went there were devout bikers. Recognizing that the Dragon rally can be a test of endurance, this years was a real cracker.
Bearing in mind how wet the winter had been, the site chosen was at the base of the surrounding mountains by a lake. I am informed that such a geological feature is known as a sink! Though picturesque, once the rain (driven by high winds) had got going never has an area of land been so aptly named,
I had approached the control point from the Llanberis Pass and actually passed the site en route, convincing myself that despite the presence of a marquee this could not possibly be the place, Of course, as I was soon to discover, it was! This was about nine o'clock Saturday morning and the weather did not seem so bad. The ground, already wet enough to require pushing the bike across, had a layer of water on its surface and was soggy under foot.
Almost as I got off the bike, the wind grew in strength and continued to do so by the minute. It was only then that I realised that the site had no natural wind breaks and my feeble attempt to erect the tent were made impossible as the gale turned what I was hoping to sleep under into a sail. Finding an alternative pitch did little to improve matters. To escape the full force of the wind meant still suffering the powerful gusts which ripped the guy lines out of the tent and pulled the groundsheet pegs straight out of the mud.
At this juncture all attempts were abandoned as a hasty retreat was beaten to the marquee which seemed to be resisting the elements worst efforts. It was warm and cosy there, although a sense of impending doom lingered over all within. The weather, far from abating as everyone hoped, deteriorated still further. By midday I decided to make a final attempt at making the best of the situation and get the tent pitched. The wind had lessened slightly, but continued to cause severe problems. Once up, my little canvas shelter did little to keep out the rain which was forming in huge puddles (one surrounding the tent), seeping in past the groundsheet.
Cowardice proved the better part of valour. I was wet through, as was the tent, and what gear I’d managed to keep dry was going to be soaked as soon as I unpacked it. I shoved everything back into the sidecar and prepared to run away. One of my main concerns was that the longer I deliberated, the less chance I’d have of getting the bike back across the field. Many brave souls were still arriving and there was a distinct lack of ground that wasn’t flooded or filled with tents.
Then I discovered that the bike wouldn’t start. Fortunately I managed to push the bike to firmer ground where it was slightly more comfortable to work on. Yes, I was the bloke with the big red Guzzi who spent two hours outside the marquee trying to dry his electrics out. When I finally got it running (well, sort of running) the marquee was also taking in water and I had no qualms of conscience in leaving.
I’ve got to hand it to anyone who stayed, they must deserve special recognition for their commitment (either that, or they were simply too pissed to saddle up and fuck off. The one time I visited, against my better judgement I may add, I cleared off home two hours after arriving - 2021 Ed.). In the past, I’ve had a lot to say about the people who just turn up to collect their badge and then bugger off, but this time I’m sorry to say I was one of them.
In the past the Conway Club has come in for a lot of criticism for lack of organisation in simply providing a muddy field and thereafter -leaving those attending to get on with it. My own opinion is that this is the kind of event that has prospered for this reason as it provides an intimate involvement for the participants, creating the atmosphere for which it is famed. Everyone knows it’s going to be basic, unfortunately, this year was. more basic than most.
Maybe a better site could have been found, but given the prevailing weather conditions, would another have made any difference? It would have been better to have had an abundant supply of firewood, and a site on higher ground, with more protection from the wind. But that’s how it was, I'll be there next year as will hundreds of others. Hopefully, we'll fare better then.
Strangely enough, I enjoyed the rigours endured - the six hundred miles it took to get there and back, the thorough wetting, even the problems with the bike (of which there were several). It all goes to show what a peculiar lot bikers are. The rally is about meeting people and just as the other year, when many were unable to attend when snow and ice blocked the toads and motorways, people met and chatted in garages and service areas and the tally achieved its objective in bringing folk together.
For the record, a mate of mine who was unable to attend at the last minute due to illness was sick as a parrot that he missed it, even after I’d told him of the conditions. That’s what rallies and events are all about. The determination to be part of the biking scene and promote and protect the virtues and beliefs that are so precious to us but constantly threatened by others.
Alik Wickford